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Digitized by the Internet Archive 
in 2010 with funding from 
The Library of Congress 



http://www.archive.org/details/lexingtonwithothOOwetm 



FUGITIVE POEMS. 



LEXINGTON, 



WITH OTHER 



FUGITIVE POEMS 




NEW- YORK : 
G. & C. & H. CARVILL. 

1830. 



■t::::^ 






1 



Sovthern Ijistrici of New- York, st. 
BK IT REMEMBERED, That on the twenty-eishth day of July, in the year of our 
Lord, one thousand eijht hundred and thirty, and in the filty-fifth year of the Independence of 
the United States of America, G.&C. &. H. Car-oill, of the said dictrict, haye deposited in thig 
odice, the title of a Book, the ri^ht whereof they claim as proprietors, ia the words following, 
to wit ; 

"LEXINGTON, with other Fugitive Poem,." 

In conformity to the Act of Conjress of the United States, entitled " An act for the en- 
couragement of Learuinir, by securing the copies of Ma|.s. Charts, and nooks, to the authors 
and proprietors of such copies, during the time therein mentioned." And also to an act, enti- 
tled "An Act, supplementary to an Act, entitled an Act for the encouraprement of Learning, 
l>y securing- the copies of Maps, Charts, and Bonks, to the authors and proprietors of such copies, 
during the times therein mentioned, and extending the heuehts thereof to the arts of desiguiugt 
euirraviug, and etchiuA" historical aud other prints. '* 

FRF.DKRICK J. BKTTS, 
Clerk of tlie ioulhern. Dulr\ct of Ae-w-York. 



^EW-VORK: 

LL;1)WI0 «i TOl.KKKKE, I>K1K'1 l^Kii, 

^o. 71, VMey-.tigct. 



LEXINGTON 



LEXINGTON. 



'TwAS calm at eve as childhood's sleep — 

The seraph-rest that knows not care — 
StiUj as the slumbering smnmer deep 

When the blue heav'n lies dream-like there, 
Blending with thoughts of that azure steep, 

The bright, the beautiiul, and fair ; 
Like hopes that win from heav'n their hue, 
As fair, as fleeting, and as few, 
Those tranquil Eden-moments flew : 
The morn beheld the battle strife — 
The blow for blow — the Ufe for life — ■ 

The deed of daring done — 



LEXINGTON. 

The Rubicon of doubt was past, 

An empire lost, a biitli-riglit won — ■ 
When Freedom's banner braved the blast. 
Flashing its splendors far and fast 

From crimsoned Lexington ! 

There was a fearful gathering seen 

On that eventful day. 
And men were there who ne'er had been 

The movers in a fray ; 
The peaceful and the silent came 

"With darkhng brows, and flashing eyes ; 
And breasts, that knew not glory's flame, 

Burned for the patriot-sacrifice ! 
No pomp of march — no proud array — 

There spake no trmnpet sound — 
But they pressed, when the morn broke dim and gray, 

Dauntless, that conflict-ground ; 
Sadly, as if some tie were broken — 

Fkmly, with eye and lip severe — 
Dark glances passed, and words were spoken, 

As men wUl look and speak in fear ; 
Yet coursed no coward blood 
Where that lone phalanx stood 



LEXINGTON. 

Rock-like, but spirit-wrought — 
A strange, unwonted feeling crept 
Through every breast — all memories slept, 
While passion there a vigil kept 

O'er one consuming thought — 
To live a fettered slave, 
Or fill a fireeman's giave ! 

Though many an arm hung weaponless. 

The clenched fingers spake fiiU well 
The stern resolve, the fearlessness, 

That danger could not queU : 
Yet some, with hasty hand, 
The rust-encumbered brand 

Had snatched from its peaceful sleep, 
And held it now with a grasp that told, 
A fi:eeman's hfe should be dearly sold — 

'Twas com'age stern and deep ! 

Proudly, as conquerors come 

From a field their arms have won, 

With bugle blast and beat of drum. 
The Briton host came on ! 



10 LEXINGTON. 

Their banners unfurled, and gaily streaming — 
Their burnished anns m the sun-light gleaming ; 

Fearless of peril, with valor high, 
And in reckless glee, they were idly dreaming 

Of a bloodless triumph nigh : 
The heavy tread of the war-horse prancing — 
The lightning-gleam of the bayonets glancing — 

Broke on the ear, and flashed on the eye, 
As the column'd foe in thek strength advancing, 

Pealed their war-notes to the echoing sky ! 

'Twas a gallant band that marshall'd there, 
With the dragon-flag upborne in air ; 
For England gathered then her pride. 

The bravest of a warrior-land — • 
Names to heroic deeds alHed, 

The strong of heart and hand. 
They came in theu' panophed might, 

In the pride of theii* chivahous name ; 
For music to them were the sounds of the fight — 

On the red carnage-field was thek altar of fame : 
They came, as the ocean-wave comes in its -WTath, 

When the storm-spuit froAviis on the deep ; 



LEXINGTON. 



They came, as the mountain-wind comes on its path, 
When the tempest hath roused it from sleep : 

They were met, as the rock meets the wave, 
And dashes its fury to ak ; 

They were met, as the foe should be met by the brave, 

With hearts for the conflict, but not for despau"! 



What power hath stayed that wild career? 
Not mercy's voice, nor a thrill of fear — 
'Tis the dread recoil of the dooming wave, 
Ere it sweeps the bark to its yawning grave— 
'Tis the fearful hour of the brooding storm, 

Ere the hghtning-bolt hath sped ; 
The shock hath come ! and the life-blood warm, 

Congeals on the breasts of the dead ! 
The strife— the taunt— the death-cry loud- 
Are peahng through the sulphurous cloud. 

As, hand to hand, each foe engages ; 
While hearts that ne'er to monarch bowed. 
And belted knights, to the combat crowd — 

A fearless throng the contest wages ; 
And eye to eye, the meek — the proud — 
Meet darkly 'neath the battle shi-oud — 

'Tis the feast of death where the conflict rages ! 



12 LEXINGTON. 

Wo ! for the land thou tramplest o'er^ 

Death-dealing fiend of war ! 
Thy battle hoofs are dyed in gore, 

Red havoc di'ives thy car ; 
Wo ! for the dark and desolate, 

Down crushed beneath thy tread — 
Thy frown hath been as a withering fate, 

To the mourning and the dead ! 
Wo ! for the pleasant cottage-home. 

The love-throng at the door ; 
Vainly they think his step will come — 

Their cherished comes no more ! 
Wo ! for the broken-hearted, 

The lone-one by the hearth ; 
Wo ! for the bhss departed — 

The Pleiad gone from earth 1 

'Twas a day of changeful fate. 

For tlie foe of the bannered-hne ; 
And the host that came at morn in state. 

Were a broken throng ere the sun's decline •, 
And many a wanior^s heart was cold. 

And many a soarmg spuit crushed — 
Where the crimson tide of battle rolled, 

And the avenging legions rushed. 



LEXINGTON. 

Wreaths for the Hving conqueror. 

And glory's meed for the perished ! 
No sculptor's art may thek forms restore. 

But the hero-names are cherished ; 
When voiced on the wind rose the patriot-call, 
They gave no thought to the gory paU, 
But pressed to the fight as a festival ! 
They bared them to the sabre-stroke. 
Nor quailed an eye when the fmy broke ; 
They fought like men who dared to die, 
For fi-eedom ! was their battle-cry. 
And loud it rang through the conflict smoke ! 

Up with a nation's banners ! They fly 

With an eagle-flight. 
To the far blue sky — 

'Tis a glorious sight, 

As they float abroad in the azure light, 
And their fame shall never die ! 

When nations search their brightest page 
For deeds that gild the olden age. 
Shining the meteor-fights of story — 



13 



14 LEXINGTON. 

England, with swelling pride shall hear 
Of Cressy's field, and old Poictiers, 

And deathless Agincourt ; 
Fair Gallia point with a kindling eye 
To the days of her belted chivahy. 

And her gallant Troubadour ; 
Old Scotia, too, with joy shall turn 
"Where beams the fight of Bannockbm'n, 

And Stirhng's field of glory ! 
Land of the free ! though young in fame, 
Earth may not boast a nobler name : 
Platsea's splendor is not thine — 

Leuctra, nor Marathon ; 
Yet look where hves in glory's line, 

The day of Lexington ! 



AN APPEAL. 



Ah, Monarchs ! Could ye taste the mirth ye mar ! 

BYRON. 



Ye worshippers of glory ! 

Who bathe the earth in blood. 
And launch proud names for an after age 

Upon the crimson j&ood — 

Pause in yom* march of terror ! 

Wo hovers o'er your path ; 
Madness, despak and death, await 

The conflict's gathering vmsdh ! 

Think ye a throne wiU prosper, 

A nation's glory rise, 
When your bark is borne by a people's tears, 

And wafted by their sighs ! 



16 AN APPEAL. 

Look to the peaceful dwelling 

Of the peasant and his race ; 
There's joy around that lowly hearth. 

There's rapture on each face. 

That hrow with snow is whitened. 
Those eyes with age are dun ; 

But his face is bright at the twihght hoiu, 
As he joins the evening hymn. 

For his children there are smiling : 

What a blessed sight it is. 
To sit in the shades of a pleasant eve, 

And gaze on a scene like this ! 

Two manly youths are standing 

Beside their father's chair. 
And a maiden's face, aU loveUness, 

Shines Kke a sunbeam there. 

A mother's placid features 

Are in that circle found. 
And her bosom warms with a thrill of joy 

As she fondly looks around. 



AN APPEAL. 

On, through the paths to glory, 

Ye mighty conquerors ; 
The trumpet's voice is summoning 

Your legions to the wars. 

Rush on, through jEields of carnage, 

And tread to earth the foe ; 
Where'er your banners float above, 

Let your sabres flash below ! 

Yet stay your march to greatness — 
Your breath has been a fate ! 

Where is the peaceful cottage now ?— 
Its hearth is desolate ! 

No more upon that dwelling, 

The twihght shadows fall ; 
In a shi-oudless grave the old man sleeps 

Beneath the ruined wall. 

Ye tore away his strong ones — 

On the battle field they lie ; 
The mother pined in her grief away, 

And laid her down to die. 



17 



18 AN APPEAL. 

That form of seraph sweetness, 
Where the eye enraptured gazed, 

Is a piteous wreck in its lovehness. 
For the lost one's brain is crazed. 

'Twere better she were sleeping 

Within the silent tomb ; 
Ohj never more to her frenzied eye. 

The flowers of life shall bloom. 

Are these the glorious trophies, 
That build you up a name ? 

With blood and tears, ye conquerors, 
Ye pmxhase empty fame ! 



THE RETURN. 



" Come home — come home !" 

MRS. IIEMANS. 



I come— I come ! — There's a somid of joy, 

Of music, in the word : 
Oh, that the rapid winds might hear 

Me onward hke a bird ! 
I'm weary with these wanderings, 

My heart is sad and lone ; 
Oh, for the treasured sounds of home, 

To wake an answering tone ! 

The voices of my happy home ! 

The music of the heart ! 
How oft those gentle whisperings come — 

Alas ! how soon depart ! 



20 THE RETURN. 

I hear them when the forest wind 

Is breathing forth its song, 
And in the mmmurings of the wave 

That bears my bark along. 

Wliy should I waken memory 

Of that far distant home ? 
'TwiU fling a deeper gloom upon 

The lonely path I roam. 
Yet fancy loves to wander forth. 

And hover round the hearth — 
To catch those gleaming looks of love 

That hght the scene of mirth. 

I'm with you there, beloved ones, 

Around the household board ; 
Those pleasant looks — those gladsome tones- 

They thiill the master-chord ! 
No more — no more ! on thoughts like these 

I may not — must not dwell ; 
Or my heart will sink in its loneliness, 

And the tear of weakness swell. 



THE RETURN. 

I come — I come ! — Why should I rove 

A dreary wild Uke this, 
When a voice belov'd recals me back 

To share hfe's all of bliss ? 
I come — I come '.—like the weaiy bird, 

At eve to its shelter'd nest ; 
Like the pilgrun from afar I come 

To a blessed shiine of rest ! 



21 



PAINTING. 



Peopling, with art's creative power, 
The lonely home, the silent hour. 



'Tis to the pencil's magic skill 

Life owes the power, almost divine. 
To call back vanished forms at wiU, 

And bid the grave its prey resign : 
Affection's eye again may trace 

The Uneaments beloved so well ; 
The speaking look, the form of grace, 

All on the hving canvass dwell : 
'Tis there the childless mother pays 

Her sorrowing soul's idolatry ; 
There love can find, in after days, 

A taUsman to memory ! 



PAINTING. 

'Tis thine, o'er History's storied page, 

To shed the halo-light of truth ; 
And bid the scenes of by-gone age 

StUl flourish in immortal youth — 
The long forgotten battle-field, 

With mailed men to people forth ; 
In bannered pride, with spear and shield. 

To show the mighty ones of earth — 
To shadow, from the holy book, 

The images of sacred lore ; 
On Calvary, the dying look 

That told hfe's agony was o'er — 
The joyous hearts, and glistening eyes, 

When httle ones were suffered near— 
The lips that bade the dead arise, 

To dry the widowed mother's tear: 
These are the triumphs of the art, 

Conceptions of the master-mind ; 
Time-shrouded forms to being start. 

And wondering rapture fills mankind ! 

Led by the hght of Genius on, 
What visions open to the gaze ! 

'Tis nature all, and art is gone. 

We breathe with them of other days : 



23 



24 PAINTING. 

Italia's victor leads the war, 

And triumphs o'er the ensanguined plain 
Behold ! the Peasant Conqueror 

Pilmg Marengo with his slain : 
That sun of glory beams once more, 

But clouds have dimmed its radiant hue ; 
The splendor of its race is o'er, 

It sets in blood on Waterloo ! 

What scene of thrilling awe is here ! 

No look of joy, no eye for mirth ; 
With steeled hearts and brows austere, 

Theii- deeds proclaim a nation's birth. 
Fame here inscribes for future age, 

A proud memorial of the free ; 
And stamps upon her deathless page, 

The noblest theme of history ! 



THE SON OF NAPOLEON. 



Son of the mighty Conqueror ! 

Thy course is well begun ; 
Thy home should be the field of war, 

Where noble deeds are done : 
Thou hast a heritage of fame — 

Then bear thy crest on high ; 
And be the lustre of His name 

The Ught that fires thine eye. 

Ay, smile ! thy heart may weU rejoice 
To mingle with the throng, 

That hear red battle's earthquake voice, 
And peal the victor's song : 

D 



26 THE SON OF NAPOLEON. 

Then lead thy sweeping squadrons forth, 

The van of carnage dare ; 
More than thy dukedom's wealth, is worth 

One hour of danger there. 

The Imperial bird again shall soar 

Its flight near glory's sun ; 
The banner of thy race once more 

Shall float where fields are won : 
Then be thy flashing sabre drawn — 

The sword thy grasp befits ; 
Another Jena yet shaU. dawn. 

Another Austerhtz ! 

Speed, warrior-boy, in honor's race, 

Nor shun the conflict's rage — 
When history gives thy name a place, 

Let glory fight the page. 
Still be that leaf of life um*ead, 

Wliich tells thy destiny ; 
The muse may gather fi-om the dead, 

Enough for prophecy ! 



THE BANNER OF MURAT. 



Thou, of the snow-white phime ! 

BYRON. 



Foremost among the first, 

And bravest of the brave ! 
Where'er the battle's fiuy burst, 

Or rolled its purple wave — 
There flashed his glance like a meteor, 

As he charged the foe afar; 
And the snowy plume that his helmet bore. 

Was the banner of Murat ! 

Mingler on many a field. 

Where rung wUd victory's peal ! 

That fearless spirit was like a shield — 
A panoply of steel : 



28 THE BANNER OP MURAT. 

For very joy in a glorious name. 

He rushed where danger stood ; 
And that banner-plume like a winged flame, 

Streamed o'er the field of blood ! 

His followers loved to gaze 

On his form, with a fierce delight. 
As it towered above the battle's blaze — 

A pillar 'midst the fight : 
And eyes looked up, ere they closed in death, 

Through the thick and sulphury air — 
And hps shrieked out with their parting breath, 

" The lily plume is there !" 

A cloud is o'er him now — 

For the peril-hour hath come — 
And he stands with his high unshaded brow, 

On the fearful spot of doom : 
Away ! no screen for a soldier's eye — 

No fear his soul appals ; 
A ratthng peal — and a shuddering cry— 

And bannerless he falls ! 



THE RUSSIAN RETREAT. 



In pride did'st thou gird on the sword, 
As a conqueror wentest thou forth. 

BROOKS. 



Descendant of heroes ! thy fame. 

And the fame of thy hne are at stake ; 
For milUons of freemen are peahng thy name. 

And the world to thy deeds is awake. 
Be, onward ! still onward ! the cry, 

As thy cohorts to battle retm^n ; 
Give thy standards the air — give thy eagles the sky — 

And thy warriors at danger will spm'n : 
Like the crouch of the tiger thou shrink'st in thy might ; 
Let the Mussulman quail when thou spring'st to the fight ! 



30 THE RUSSIAN RETREAT. 

Spread thy wings to the wind, soaring bii"d ! 

And marshal the Muscovite band ; 
Let thy cry midst the fight hke a death-scream be heard. 

As thou sweep'st o'er the desolate land ! 
Thou, Eaglet, wast fledged fi'om the brood 

That guarded St. Catharine's spkes, 
When the Corsican came where the proud Kjemlin stood, 

But shrunk fi-om a city of fires ! 
This flight is thy first, and thy fame is but young ; 
Yet thy beak shall be crimsoned, thy glory be sung ! 

And Ye of the high crested host. 

Proud sons of the noble and brave ! 
Ye pledged to the world, when the dark wave ye crossed. 

That the Greek should no more be a slave : 
Then speed in the lofty emprise. 

Bear the flag of the cross to the sea ; 
Let yom' shout from the minaret-temples arise — 

And the race of the Spartan is fi'ee ! 
Then history's page shall yom* glories record, 
And \actory's song glad the shi-me of the Lord ! 



THE RUSSIAN RETREAT. 31 

And Thou, of the Infidel horde, 

Beware when the conflict shall close ; 
For the Crescent shall sink 'neath the Christian's red sword, 

And thy Mosques shall be trodden by foes. 
Barbarian ! thy pride is in blood, 

And thy deeds are recorded by fear ; 
But vengeance shall come, as the dark roUing flood, 

And thy death-song the Prophet shall hear ! 
Thy Varna shall fall, battered Choumla shaU yield, 
Then, Stromboul,the proud ! thou'it the wage of the field ! 



CONSTANTINOPLE. 



Unbar the ponderous gate — 

Let fall the scimetar ! 
For the Christian's voice is the breath of fate, 

And he sweeps to the glorious war. 
Vainly the Sacred-Banner waves — 

In vain the Crescent gleams — 
Above the Moslem's peopled graves. 

The bird of carnage screams ! 

City of ages past ! 

A pall on thy glory hes — 
The Turk hath dwelt in thy temples vast, 

And swayed thy destinies. 
Proudly above thy minarets 

The unholy symbol flies ; 
But thy shame is past, for the Eagle whets 

His beak for a sacrifice ! 



CONSTANTINOPLE. 

In pride thy splendors shone, 

And a glorious name was thine, 
When the Greek in his might was on thy throne - 

Imperial Constantino ! 
And nobly there he stood. 

Breasting the battle-shock ; 
And his banner-shroud was drenched in blood, 

As he sank from the shattered rock ! 

Thou haughty Infidel ! 

Be brave in thy coming hour — 
And the lyre and pen of thy port shall tell, 

As thou met'st the Avenger's power : 
Look ! to the storied scroU, 

That hves on thy crumbHng walls — 
From the battered towers of Istambol, 

The last Paleeologus falls ! 



33 



GREECE. 



The brave heart's Holy Laud. 

HALLECK. 



Land of the pencil and the lyre, 

The marble and the dome ! 
Whose name is to the muse a fire. 

Whose temples are a home : 
Clime of a wealth unbought ! 

Where Genius long enshiined 
His treasury of thought. 

The Peru of the mind ! 

Land of that unforgotten few ! 

The breathing rampart-rock 
That towered a Pelion to the view, 

Wlien burst the battle shock ! 



GREECE. 

Clime of the fair and brave ! 

When will the tale be o'er, 
Of warriors in the grave — 

Of maidens in their gore ? 

Land of the fettered slave ! 

Thy bonds shall burst asunder— 
Freedom is on the wave. 

Hark to her echoing thunder ! 
The red-cross banner gleaming — 
And Galha's white field streammg- 
And the black eagle screaming — 

Sweep o'er the ^gean sea ; 
The Moslem horde is shrinking — 
The Crescent's glory sinldng — 

And the land of song is free ! 



HEBREW. 



All the fountains of the great deep were broken up, and the win- 
dows of heaven were opened. genesis. 



A DOOM to the fallen ! The earth where they trod, 
Shall be laden no longer with scoffers of God ; 
He speaks ! and his banner of wrath is unfurled, 
And the avalanche-deluge comes down on the world. 

A doom to the fallen ! It rides on the wind — ■ 
They look back in terror, the wave is behind ; 
While onward, and onward, in anguish they flee, 
StiU darkly sweeps onward the dash of the sea. 

They trust not the valleys — hope perishes there — 
But they rush to the hiUs with the strength of despair ; 
The palm trees are bended by myriads of forms, 
As forests are bowed by the spirit of storms ! 



HEBREW. 37 

There's a hush of the weak, and a cry from the stronger — 
And the rock, and the tree, are a refuge no longer ; 
The waters have closed in a midnight of gloom, 
And sullenly roll o'er a world-peopled tomb ! 

'Tis morn on the wave, like a bird on its breast, 
Floats the ark of the godly — a haven of rest ; 
A sign and a pledge to the wanderers are given. 
And the promise-bow arches the blue vault of heaven ! 



HEBREW. 



Judah mourneth, and the gates thereof languish ; they are black 
unto the ground ; and the cry of Jerusalem is gone up. 



JEREMIAH. 



Ohj Judah ! thy dwelhngs are sad — • 

Thy children are weeping around, 
In sackcloth their bosoms are clad 

As they look on the famishing ground : 
In the deserts they make them a home, 

And the mountains awake to their cry — 
For the frown of Jehovah hath come, 

And his anger is red m the sky ! 

Thy tender ones throng at the brink, 
But the waters are gone from the well ; 

They gaze on the rock, and they think 
Of the gush of the stream from its cell — 



HEBREW. 39 

How they came to its margin before. 

And drank in their innocent mirth ; 
Away ! it is sealed — and no more 

Shall the fountain yield freshness to earth. 

The hearts of the mighty are bowed, 

And the lowly are haggard with care — 
The voices of mothers are loud, 

As they shriek the wild note of despair : 
Ohj Jerusalem ! mourn through thy halls — • 

And bend to the dust in thy shame — 
The doom that thy spirit appals, 

Is famine — the sword — and the flame ! 



MELODY. 



Home of our hopes — thou spirit-land ! 

How fondly do we think of thee, 
As of some isle by odors fann'd 

Far off amidst the sea : 
Bright to our souls thy visions come, 

When o'er us clouds of sorrow sweep — 
As tidings from their distant home 

To wanderers o'er the deep. 

Ohj throned beyond the starry way ! 

What forms are dwellers of thy sphere- 
The few, who lent the hues of day 

When cares grew darkest here ! 
How blissful 'twere in thought to trace. 

From star to star, a loved one gone — 
And deem 'twere some famihar face, 

Whose smile tliat moment shone ! 



MONONECO. 



It is the spot I came to seek, — 
My fathers' ancient burial-place, 

Ere from these vales, ashamed and weak, 
Withdrew our wasted race. 

It is the spot, — I know it well. 

BRYANT. 



He stood upon that soil — 
His birth-place and his home of many years ; 
His look was calm — his eyes, miwet by tears. 

Were dimmed by time and toU. 

In days of youthful pride, 
'Twas his to lead the warriors in the strife, 
To hurl the tomahawk, or sheathe the knife 

In vaimting foeman's side. 

F 



42 MONONECO. 

The mountain passes rude — 
The trackless wilderness — to him were home ; 
And his free, bounding spirit, loved to roam 

The forest solitude. 

One spot was ever bright. 
To which the Indian's roving step retmned ; 
For there the holy flame of nature bmned — 

The bosom's altar-light. 

But reckless time had fled — 
Beneath the turf, remembered though unwept. 
His loved ones, all of kuidi*ed currents slept ; 

His soul was with the dead ! 

A stranger race had sprung 
Like phantoms, on his sight — ^the white men came. 
His lands were gone — he quaffed the hquid flame. 

Till madness round him clung. 

The fleeting years rolled on — 
His tribe was scattered to the winds of heaven ! 
With broken energies, and spirit riven. 

The hopeless chief was gone ! 



MONONECO. 

And he had wandered long, 
Through western wilds, and o'er the prairies vast, 
Where never footstep of the white man passed, 

Or echoed hxmter's song. 

Yet ever in his breast, 
A lingering feeling dwelt ; the days gone by 
Came fresh upon his soul ; yet tear, nor sigh. 

Told of his blighted rest. 

Agam he wanders forth, 
To look upon the well-remembered scene ; 
To tread the ancient grove, and vale of green, 

Ere he goes down to earth. 

And there he stands, alone — • 
Like the last pine upon a blackened waste. 
When the fierce, desolating flame, hath passed 

With its low crackling moan. 

And like that scathed tree — 
Of scion, branch, and foKage, all bereft — 
This last of a proud lineage is left 

To tearless misery ! 



43 



44 



MONONECO. 



He glances darkly round — 
There once his dwelling stood beneath the shade 
Of a tall oak ; and there his children played 

Their gambols on the ground. 

There flows the rippling stream 
That bore so oft at eve his hght canoe, 
Wafting the hunter's spoil as twihght threw 

Its dim and shadowy beam. 

And yonder rise the hills, 
Upon whose craggy sides, full oft his bow 
Hath stayed the deer, or brought the wild bird low- 
That thought his bosom thrills ! 

Beneath yon lonely mound, 
Whose weed-grown sods a saddening story tell, 
His gathered race in one dark chamber dweU^- 

'Tis consecrated ground ! 

Ay, lone one ! look thy last: 
Thou stand'st upon the soil that gave thee biith, 
But not to thee belongs thy native earth, 

Thy name and power are past ! 



MONONECO. 45 

There let thy arrows fall — 
Upon that hallowed spot — the morrow's sun 
May see it levelled, and the plough-share run 

Its riot course o'er aU. 

Where is thy favorite tree, 
In youth and age, thy fondly cherished oak ? 
Its pride hath bowed beneath the woodman's stroke — 

This is no place for thee ! 

The twilight found him there,"! 
The moon went down upon the desolate one. 
And morning came — the wandering chief was gone 

To die in his despair ! 



THE FLIGHT. 



Yet see 1 



The lattice opens, and a hand as white 
As fleecy cloud, or snow on mountain top, 
Waves a fair answer. She will come ! 

LEGGETT. 



O'er the lake's gentle bosom 

Soft music is sighing, 
How sweetly is breathing 

The lute's silver sound ! 
The lover's Hght bark 

O'er the swift wave is flying. 
With the speed of a fairy 

On love's errand bound : 
The maiden is Hstening — 

The echoes are dying — 
And light from the lattice 

Is beaming around. 



p 



THE PLIGHT. 47 



One glance to the turret — 

Love's signal is waving ! 
'Tis the star of his hope 

To the fond lover's sight ; 
Floating light as a sea-bird, 

The deep billow braving, 
That bark bears the maiden 

Away in its flight ; 
The smile on her fair cheek, 

A tear-drop is laving, 
And the lovers are gone 

In the shadows of night. 



SONG. 



Breathe no more the notes of sadness. 

Give to pleasure all thy strings ; 
Gentle harp, thy song of gladness 
O'er our souls its magic flings : 
Where's the breast with sorrow piaing ? — 

Bring the pilgrim to our shrine ; 

Where the spirit's Ught is shinmg, 

There's the Mecca most divine ! 

Then breathe no more the notes of sadness, 

Give to pleasm'e all thy strings : 
Gentle haip, thy song of gladness 
O'er om' souls its magic flings. 

Here no brow by sorrow shaded. 

Comes to mar om* mirth with sighs ; 

Here no wreath whose flowers have faded, 
Meets the glance of sparkling eyes : 



i 



SONG. 49 

Seek ye love ? the bosom's treasure — 

Here he plumes his keenest dart ; 
When ye Ust the witching measure. 
Then love plies his potent art : 

Oh ! breathe no more the notes of sadness, 

Give to pleasure all thy strings ; 
Gentle harp, thy song of gladness 
O'er our souls its magic flings. 



TWELVE YEARS HAVE FLOWN. 



Twelve years have flown, since last I saw 

My birth-place, and my home of youth : 
How oft its scenes would memory draw — 

Her tints, the pencilings of truth : 
Unto that spot I come once more. 

The dearest life hath ever known — 
Atid stiU it wears the look it wore, 

Although twelve weary years have flown. 

Again upon the soil I stand 

Where first my infant footsteps strayed ; 
Again I view my " father-land," 

And wander thi'ough its pleasant shade : 



TWELVE YEARS HAVE FLOWN. 51 

I gaze upon the hills, the skies, 

The verdant banks with flowers o'ergrown — 
And while I look with glistening eyes, 

Almost forget twelve years have flown ! 

Twelve years have flown — those words are brief, 

Yet in their sound what fancies dwell — 
The hoiu's of bUss, the days of gi'ief. 

The joys and woes remembered well : 
The hopes that filled the youthful breast, 

Alas, how many a one o'erthrown — 
Deep thoughts, that long have been at rest. 

Wake at the words, twelve years have flown ! 

The past — the past ! a saddening thought, 

A withering spell, is in the sound ! 
It comes with memories deeply fraught 

Of youthful pleasure's giddy roimd ; 
Of forms, that roved life's sunniest bowers. 

The cherished few forever gone — 
Of dreams, that filled life's morning hours — 

Where are they now ? — Twelve years have flown ! 



52 TWELVE YEARS HAVE FLOWN. 

A briefj but eloquent reply ! 

Where are youth's hopes — life's morning dream? 
Seek for the flowers that floated by 

Upon the rushing mountain-stream ! 
Yet gems beneath that wave may sleep. 

Tin after years shall make them known ; 
Thus golden thoughts the heart will keep, 

That perish not, though years have flown. 



A SKETCH. 



She is not very beautiful, if it be beauty's test 
To match a classic model when perfectly at rest. 

WILLIS. 



'Tis not the contoui' of her form, or face — 
The hue, the soft cerulean of her eyes — 
Nor yet the youthful grace of her hght step, 
Free as the fawn's upon the hill at morn : 
There are, whose more surpassing lovehness 
Might win from her the worship of the world. 
But when I look upon her innocent featm'es, 
And trace the currents of the eloquent blood, 
Speaking the thoughts that crowd her artless mind- 
I do forget myself in the sweet theme; 
And wayward fancy fashions her as one 
Lovely as angel-forms that poets dream of 
Feigning their Eden-songs. 



54 A SKETCH. 

She's but a child ! 
And yet a pleasant study for my thoughts. 
I've led her by the hand, tlirough the green fields 
Jewelled with nature's gay luxuriance, 
When bright-hued flowers sprung up before our steps. 
And the blue sky slept like an azure lake, 
Pillowing the soft white cloud upon its breast — 
And with a deep, unspoken joy, have watched 
The expanding of her mind, when first awoke 
Its young imagmings — intelligence 
Floating like incense on her gentle breath : 
Methought that sweet unfolding of the spirit, 
Was like the birth of fi-agrance in the flower. 

There is a kind and placid temper writ 
Upon her brow, type of the soul within. 
How dotmgly I dweU upon those looks. 
That brighten on my heart, amid Hfe's cares, 
Like sunbeams to the wave-tossed mariner 
Desolate on a sea of storms ! And then 
The biid-hke melody of her low voice. 
Breathing the accents of a love untaught, 
Or blending in harmonious cadences ! 
Blest sounds, that may be in an after year 
An unforgotten music to the heait ! 



A SKETCH. 55 

But when at eve my laden brow she presses 
To her pure lip, and with endearment sweet 
Twining her slight and dehcate arms around me, 
Seeks to beguile my very weaiiness 
And cheat me of a smile — I lose aU sense 
Of sorrow, and my eyes are fiUed for joy ; 
It is an ecstacy that hath no words. 

You'll smUe, and say this is a rhapsody — 
In very sooth it is — I'm most content 
That you should call it so. My heart is fully 
To overflowing, of dehghtful dreamings — 
She is my daughter ! 



A THOUGHT. 



As we look back through Hfe iii our moments of sadness, 
How few, and how brief, are its gleamings of gladness; 
Yet we find 'midst the gloom that om* pathway o'ershaded, 
A few spots of sunshine — a few flowers unfaded : — 
And memory stiH hoards, as her richest of treasures, 
Some moments of rapture — some exquisite pleasures : 
One horn* of such bliss is a life ere it closes — 
'Tis one drop of fragrance from thousands of roses ! 



THE STAR BANNER. 



Flag of the free heart's only home. 

DRAKE. 



Ye stars, with lustre shining 

In glory's azure sky ! 
How dazzHngly your radiance burns 

As you meet a freeman's eye ! 

For yours has been the splendor 
Of many a conquered field : — 

On the glorious plain of the grounded arms, 
Ye saw the Briton yield. 

And when St. George's banner 

The Lordhng-Hero bore, 
Ye traced his path through fields of blood, 

Till his legions fled the shore. 

H 



58 THE STAR BANNER. 

And where the tempest-spirit 

Broods o'er the crested wave. 
Ye have shone above the victor bark, 

And ht the foeman's grave. 

How proudly through the battle 

Has flashed your meteor hght, 
Till the brave have caught from yoilr kindhng beams 

New spkit in the fight ! 

Not o'er the field of carnage, 

Nor on the shattered mast : — 
Ye love to shine on the meeting barks, 

"When the greeting word js passed. 

Where'er a flag is floating 

Above the chainless sea. 
Like an altar-flame shall brightly gleam 

The banner of the free. 

Shine on ! with a blaze of glory 

Ye gild a nation's name ; 
And yom* rays shall beam as a guiding hght 

O'er the ocean path of fame ! 



REMEMBERED MUSIC. 



The music we were wont to love 
In days of bliss gone by, 

In after years the soul can move 
Almost to agony. 



There was a song I loved to hear 

In boyhood's happy hours ; 
'Twas sweet, as a bird-note carolled near, 

Or a voice from the dew-lipped flowers : 
It was a witching melody, 

Like the music of a dream, 
Or the sound of distant minstrelsy 

Heard o'er a summer stream. 

But when the sunny years flew by, 

And cares were closing round — 
When the flowers that smiled to the April sky, 

Lay dead on the summer ground — 



60 REMEMBERED MUSIC. 

Ah, then the warbhngs of that song 

With deeper thriUings came. 
For they wakened burning thoughts, that long 

Had slept like a hidden flame. 

Still from the heart a tone replies 

Unto that music's speU, 
As answering echoes mom^nlul rise 

Around the minster-bell : 
The sabbath vesper-chime will cease, 

Its sound be hushed at last ; 
Bvit ne er can come the bosom's peace 

TiU it forgets the past. 

Oh, deeply stiU, this heart of mine 

Responds that melting strain ; 
As Molean strings at day's dechne, 

To night-winds wake again : 
The harp wiU sigh to zephyr's kiss 

Till all its chords decay ; 
And that song wiU call back thoughts of bhss, 

Till memory fades away ! 



ADDRESS, 



SPOKEN AT THE OPENING OF THE BOWERY THEATRE, 

August 20, 1828. 



As PILGRIM wanderers from a far-off land, 
With eager footsteps press their native strand — 
And, whUe they gaze with rapture-beaming eyes 
On each loved scene, the hills, the vales, the skies. 
Forget aU perils of the way-worn past. 
In joy to meet long-cherished friends at last ; 
Thus, cheered by hope, the drama's votaries come- 
Your smile the sun that Ughts them to their home. 

Sad wakener of the past ! oh, stay thy power, 
Nor e'er recall the horrors of that hour, 
When the hot breath of the red whulwind came. 
And desolation fanned the crackling flame. 



62 ADDRESS. 

Lo ! where the appalling vision starts to view ! 
Destaiction glares through clouds of lurid hue — 
FeU havoc hovers o'er the tottering walls — 
Hope shrieking flies — the mighty fabric falls ! 
Where toAvered its pride, a smouldering ruin hes — 
The enchanter speaks ! behold, new splendors rise ! 
Perish remembrance of that fearfid night. 
Before this scene of loveUness and Hght. 

Immortal Bard ! whose hfe-reflecting page, 
Undimmed by time, descends from age to age — ■ 
To thee, is dedicate the drama's shrine ; 
Taste rears its dome — the pedestal is tliine. 
Within this temple, votive to thy fame, 
Genius shall kindle at thy muse's flame ; 
And the warm incense of the heart shall rise 
To nature's minstrel, feeling's sacrifice. 

O'er the glad scene where genius sheds his hght, 
A god-like radiance gilds the mental sight ; 
Imperial mind high adoration pays. 
And hghts her fires at his meridian blaze ; 
Within the drama's comts he scatters gems, 
More rich than sparkle in earth's diadems : 



ADDRESS. 63 

Waked from her golden dreams in sun-lit bower, 
Where thoughts elysian wreathe the captive horn', 
On new-fledged pinions borne through realms of Hght, 
Imagination soars her eagle flight ; 
While genius leads — earth, sea, and world-strewn sky, 
Unveil their mysteries to the ardent eye ; 
And fancy's bright creations start to life, 
With all the attributes of nature rife. 

Let shadowy forms in phantasy be shown — 
Rapt fancy, buUd an empire of thy own ! 
Where yonder gay and sylvan scene unfolds, 
A fairy court its mimic revel holds : 
Amid the mazes of the umbrageous grove. 
Joyous or sad, the air- wrought visions rove : 
Throned in a bower, of blushing roses twined, 
Whose fragrant odors fiU the summer wind. 
Queen of the mystic rites, fair taste appears, 
Her flower-wreathed sceptre gemmed with dewy tears. 
What sounds melodious on the zephyr swell ? 
'Tis music, breathing o'er her sweetest shell ! 
Apollo's train flits through the viewless space. 
And genius paints the eloquence of face : — 
Child of ItaUa's smmy skies ! 'tis thine 
To thrill the breast with harmony divine : — 



64 ADDRESS. 

And see, where glides to music's rapturous measure, 

The nymph of graceful step and soul of pleasure: — 

Thalia's glance its pensive lustre darts, 

With smiles to soothe, or sighs to sadden hearts : — ■ 

Pale, wan, and desolate, the tearful muse 

Stalks darkly by ; her glistening eyes diffuse 

A melancholy Ught — that shiiek ! — 'tis past — 

The pall of death is o'er her sorrows cast j 

The veil of fancy drawn, her dreams depart — 

The spell is gone she flung around the heart : 

ReaUty appears ! in all the Mght 

Of truth, it bursts upon the gladdened sight. 

To shed sweet fragrance o'er life's weary hoiffs, 
The drama comes to strew her choicest flowers ; 
She brings her treasures to your fostering care. 
Nor doubts the sunshine of yom* smiles to share ; 
Her cherished home in feeling's breast she rears, 
Basks in its smiles, and doats upon its tears : 
Truth's laws shall rule the fictions of the stage, 
Her themes can ne'er offend a moral age : 
Life's varied scenes this miiTor shall reflect. 
While taste prescribes the feast of mtellect ! 



PROLOGUE 



TO THE TRAGEDY OF METAMORA. 



Not from the records of Imperial Rome, 
Or classic Greece, the muses' chosen home — 
From no rich legends of the olden day. 
Our bard hath drawn the story of his play : 
Led by the guiding hand of genius on, 
He here hath painted nature on her throne ; 
His eye hath pierced the forest's shadowy gloom, 
And read strange lessons from a nation's tomb : 
Brief are the annals of that blighted race — 
These halls usurp a monarch's resting place ! 
Tradition's mist-enshrouded page alone, 
Tells that an empire was — we know 'tis gone ! 



66 PROLOGUE. 

From foreign climes full oft the muse hath brought. 
Her glorious treasures of gigantic thought ; 
And here, beneath the witchery of her power, 
The eye hath poured its tributary shower. 
When modern pens have sought the historic page. 
To picture forth the deeds of former age, 
O'er soft Virginia's sorrows ye have sighed, 
And dropt a tear when spotless beauty died : 
When Brutus, "cast his cloud aside" to stand 
The guardian of the tyrant-trampled land — 
When patriot TeU, his soil from thraldom freed, 
And bade the avenging arrow do its deed. 
Your bosoms answered with responsive sweU, 
For freedom triumphed as the oppressor fell ! 

These were the melodies of humbler lyres, 
The Mghts of genius, yet without his fires ; 
But when the master-spirit struck the chords. 
And inspiration breathed her burning words — 
When passion's self stalked living o'er the stage, 
To melt with love, or rouse the soid to rage — • 
When Shakspeare led his bright creations forth. 
Waked the pale dead, or gave new beings buth — 
Breathless, entranced, ye heard the spell-fraught Une, 
And felt the minstrel's power — almost divine ! 



PROLOGUE. 67 

While thus, your plaudits cheer the stranger lay, 
Shall native bards in vain the field essay ? 
To-night we test the strength of native powers, 
Subject, and bard, and actor, aU are ours — • 
'Tis yours to judge if worthy of a name, 
And bid them live within the halls of fame ! 



FAREWELL ADDRESS, 

SPOKEN BY MISS CLARA FISHER, 

Nov. 30, 1629. 



No MORE the feigned speech, or smile of ait — 
I come to pay the tribute of the heart ; 
Of favors past, in artless phrase to teU — 
Favors, remembered — need I say how well 1 
How vain the task — the hps, alas ! too weak — 
On such a theme, the heart alone should speak. 

But two brief years have flown, since first I came 
A youthfiil votary to these haUs of fame ; 
I pressed, unheralded, a foreign strand — 
Your smiles received me in the stranger's land ; 
StiU cheered me onward in my glad career, 
Yanquished each doubt, dispelled each fluttering fear ; 
TiU now a veteran of the mimic field. 
With lance in rest, I boldly bid you yield ! 



FAREWELL ADDRESS. 69 

Capricious as the wind, my course has been, 
In truth, a very Rover of the scene ! 
The buskin's pomp — Thalia's mirthful train — 
And motley farce, where foUy's features reign — 
The gi'ave, the gay — the galliard, and the song — 
In all, I've mingled with the votive throng ; 
Caught from your glance, new ardor in the chase — 
The meed is here — say, have I won the race ? 

Let fancy, for a while, her vigil keep, 
And summon "spirits from the vasty deep ;" 
Nay, look not grave, indeed they're harmless sprites, 
And not the spectral shades that "walk o' nights." 
They rise ! in varied form, grotesque — and fair — 
I'U paint them for you ere they melt in air. 
Yet hold ! So fast they throng upon the view. 
The task were hard, I'U only sketch a few. 



Away with smiles — the joyous scene is past. 
And darkly comes the parting hom^ at last ; 
A wanderer now, through southern climes to roam, 
My dearest hope, to find as bright a home ; 



70 FAREWELL ADDRESS. 

Friendship as warm, as kindly hands as these. 
Before such eyes, how can I fail to please ! 
I go — ^but when the south-wind's balmy breath 
Warms the cold earth, and wakes the flowers from death ; 
When, pilgrun like, each bii"d of spring returns, 
And the veiled sun with wonted splendor bm'ns, 
Will your bright smiles with natm'e's reappear, 
Shall I then meet as warm a welcome here ? 

To part ! what sorrows mingle in that word ! 
The saddest Hp hath voiced, or ear hath heard ; 
FuE deeply now I prove its chilling spell, 
And breathe in broken speech, Farewell — Farewell ! 



TO FELICIA HEMANS. 



Enchantress of the heart-appealing lyre ! 

I may not liken to an earthly sound 

Thy minstrelsy — and yet there wander round 
Such melodies, when summer winds expire 
At the sweet hush of evening's holy hour. 

The voice-like breathings of the dying wind, 
Have all the purity, the hallowed power 

That hves in the rich essence of thy mind. 
Not with familiar images alone, 

Pictured upon the heart, thou wak'st thy chords ; 
Soul-stiiiiag thoughts, and themes of lofty tone, 

Like Sibyl-gleams, flash from thy burning words ! 
Sing on — sing on ! that choir indeed is blest, 
Whence strains hke thine come thrilling to the breast ! 



SUSaUEHANNAH. 



WRITTEN IN StJMMEK. 



"On Susquehannah's side !" — ^Roll on in pride 
Thou classic stream, for not unknown to fame 
Art thou: The Bard of Hope hath sung thy name 

In numbers, flowing as thy silver tide. 

So peacefully thou glid'st upon thy way, 
Murmuring thy songs of pleasant harmony. 
That ev'n the sullen hiUs, thek frowns cast by. 

And smile, to see thy frolic waters play. 

Ah ! gentle stream, apt emblem thou of hfe ! 
Our bark may float as gTacefuUy at rest, 
As yonder shallop on thy waveless breast, 

Yet both shaU know the elemental strife. 
Thou pay'st the mighty ocean tribute : We, 
Are rushing on to sweU a mightier sea ! 



TIME. 



I speak to Time. 

BYRON. 



What voice may speak to thee, tomb-builder, Time ! 

Thou wast, and art — and shalt be when the breath 

That holds communion now is hushed in death. 
Upon thy tablet Earth — a page sublime — 
Are chronicled the wi'ecks of buried years ! 

The cities of the lava-sepulchre — 

The rehcs of God's wrathful minister — 
Yield up their hoarded history of tears. 
The Pyramid, and Mausoleum proud, 

Attest of thee, and teU of those that were ; 

Of sounding names, now heard as empty air, 
That once were as the voice of nations loud ; 

The Persian, and the Greek, are kindred there — 
Feuds are forgot when foes the narrow dwellings crowd ! 



AMBITION. 



Methinks it were an easy leap, 



To pluck bright honor from the pale-faced Moon. 

SHAKSPEARE. 



Light of the noble mind ! the proud of earth 
Have ever breathed to thee their matin song ; 
And lofty hearts have mingled in the throng 
That gazed entranced upon thy brightness. Worth 
To thee a minister hath been ; and biith 

No heritage hath clauned ; the student's lore — 
The poet's verse — for thee, their visions soar ! 
Thy beams may gild a tin-one, or peasant's hearth : 
Fond worshippers have followed o'er the wave. 
And watched thy rays, as mariners the sun : 
Danger hath stood upon the battlement 
Wliere iTished thy votary with his banner rent — 
Yet pressed he on, tUl victory's meed was won, 
In wreaths upon liis brow, or glory on his grave ! 



AMBITION. 75 

Despots may woo thee to their crimson car, 
And havoc lead the way o'er reeldng fields 
Where trampled freedom aU her birth-right yields, 

And rapine stalks, while mercy flies afar : 

Yet hast thou been fiiU oft the guiding star 
That hghted patriots to a deathless fame ; 
Their guerdon but the lustre of a name — 

Their field, the council-seat or front of war. 

BhaU god-like reason veil her ardent eye. 

Or sun-born eagles perch with birds of night ? — 

Shall swelling bosoms shun bright honor's race, 

When glory's hght is beaconing the chase ? 
The soaring spirit wings its towering flight. 

Nor stoops its falcon crest beneath the spreading sky ! 



FANCY. 



Spirit of airy hopes and rapturous lay ! 
I woo thee fancy I 



Come, Fancy ! with thy soul-enrapturing power, 
And lead me through the fairy haunts, where dwell 
Thy magic influences ; in moon-lit deK — 

Mid starry spheres — in dewy bosomed flower — ■ 

Or, where the myrtle twines a perfumed bower, 
For youthful Love to weave his mystic speU — 
Where'er thou art, I woo thee from thy cell. 

And give to thee the visions of this hour. 

I'll follow thee through ocean's coral caves, 
And yield my spirit to deep ecstacies ; 
The winds discourse thy sweetest melodies. 

And gossamer barks are dancing o'er the waves : 
O, dip thy pencU in the Iris' hues. 

And paint thy dwelling-place — twin sister of the Muse ! 



FANCY. 



77 



Thou sitt'st upon the aged abbey's tower, 

Listening the tale that plainiag night-bii'ds tell ; 

Or ghdest through the cloistered aisle, when swell 
The midnight chimes : while brooding tempests lower. 
Thy chariot is the cloud : in summer shower, 

While whispering voices wake thy airy shell, 

Thou'rt seen where last the glancing sunbeam fell : 
And Spring, the gentle maid of balmy dower. 
When nature's chilly breathings first she braves, 

Woos thee unto her sylvan mysteries ; 

Thy court is then 'midst choral harmonies : 
But when the vesper tear thy chaplet laves. 

And night's pale dueen her placid course pursues. 
Thou lov'st to chmb the steep, and brush the mountain 
dews ! 



DESTINY. 



Who can control his fate. 

SHAESFKARE. 



Why should the spirit strive to penetrate 

The veil that shrouds, stern Power! thy dark decrees! 

Whether our bark of hfe shaU sweep o'er seas 
Of pain and peril, tempest-tost by fate ; 
Or ghde o'er waves at peace where zephyrs wait 

To waft us on our course ; be bliss or wo 

The haven we approach — the best to know 
Would banish Hope, the charmer of om* state ! 
And if the worst — the certainty of ill 

Would, like a storm-cloud, o'er life's ocean lower, 
Dark'ning the elements around us, tiU 

With self-engendered poison fraught, the hour 
That destiny hath cm^sed should come in gloom — 
Vam thought ! come, cherub Hope, and smile ev'n on 
the tomb ! 



CHILDHOOD. 



I would I were a careless child. 

BYRON. 



Sweet days of Infancy ! Ye hold a place 

Within the breast, where thought dehghts to dweU ; 

The heart, world-seared, wiU oft life's path retrace 

To nestle, bird-like, on ye ; ah, how well 

Does miser memory treasure up your joys. 
The pageantry of many an after dream ! 
That happy home, beside the pebbly stream 

Which made sweet music with its rippling noise ; 

The soft green bank, where noon-tide hours were sported — 
The buoyant spirit, scarce subdued in school. 
The shout of glee, when paused the pedant's rule — 

The bark, whose paper sail the zephyr courted ; - 
Ah ! innocent delights of childhood's hours, 

To the sad heart ye come, Hke fragrancy from flowers ! 



FAME. 



Ah! who can tell how how hard it is to climb 
The steep, where Fame's proud temple shines afar ! 



Thou glittering fane, that firest the aspii-ing mind ! 
How gorgeously thy dome and colmnns shone, 
When life was young and aU its cares miknown ; 
How eager then I sought the paths to find 
That lead unto thy halls — yet ah, how blind 
Is mortal vision ! few, short years have flown — 
Where are those cherished hopes of bright renown, 
Wherein I dressed myself? Fled with the wind 
That breathes from summer's cloud — gone with the light 
That breaks in fitful gleams through smnmer's storm ; 
Dark on my soul hath faU'n the wintry bhght. 

Chilling a heart whose feelings once were warm. 
Chastened, but not subdued, in love of fame. 
My spuit still reveres the glory of a name ! 



NOTES. 



K 



NOTES. 



Lexington. Page 7. 

The design of this Poem has been to illustrate the historical in- 
cidents connected with the first battle of the Revolution. By the 
extracts, which follow, it will be perceived, that the writer has not 
deviated from facts in the narrative. Thacher, in his " Military 
Journal," says — "The British troops marched to Lexington, last 
Wednesday, for the purpose of destroying our military stores ; our 
militia collected and met them. The regulars soon commenced 
firing; our people returned the fire ; a smart skirmish ensued, and 
several were killed on both sides. The British were compelled to 
retreat in confusion towards Boston — our people pursued, and 
harassed them. The situation of the king's forces during the day 
was extremely hazardous, and it is considered wonderful that any 
of them escaped. Worn down, and almost exhausted, and their 
ammunition expended, they had become nearly defenceless when 
they reached Charlestown, in the evening, after a loss of two hun- 
dred and seventy-three men, killed, wounded, and prisoners. The 
loss on the side of the Provincials, is eighty-eight in the whole." 

" It is impossible to describe the zeal and military ardor which 
pervades New England, since the battle at Lexington. The fearful 
hour has arrived 1 " 



84 NOTES. 

The following extract, relating to this event, is from " Revolu- 
tionary Anecdotes." " It was a scene of strange and thrilling inte- 
rest — they stood there to oppose an authority which they had been 
taught to fear, if not to venerate. Many were armed but with 
their wrongs, others had caught up in haste the rude weapons of 
the chase, but there was determination in every look. Well did 
the assailants rue their assault upon that little band of patriots. 
Long will the doings of that day be remembered. It was the 
opening scene of a glorious drama." 

But pressed to thejight as a festival. Page 13. 

He rushes to the fray as if he were summoned to a banquet. 

Jvanhoe. 

Since the page on which the above line occurs was printed, the 
attention of the writer has been drawn to a passage, similar both 
in thought and expression, in a poem, by the author of Marco 
Bozzaris, which appeared in the Talisman for 1829. It might 
be doubted which were the least excusable offence — actual indebt- 
edness for the words, or forgetfulness of even one line from such a 
source. 

A talisman to memory. Page 22. 
A boon, a talisman, O, memory I give. Mrs. Hemans. 

What scene of thrilling awe is here '. Page 24. 
It can scarcely be necessary to refer the reader to the painting of 
the Declaration of Independence by Colonel Trumbull. 

The Soi\ of Napoleon. Page 25. 
The Stanzas under the above title were written on reading the 
following paragraph, from a foreign paper : 



NOTES. 85 

" An article from Vienna mentions the arrival of thirty thousand 
troops, at the camp near Drey Kirschen. As they defiled before 
the Emperor Francis, the young Duke of Reichstadt, (who appear- 
ed for the first time in uniform) attracted great and universal 
attention. Joy beamed in his countenance." 

Still be that leaf of life unread, 

Which tells thy destiny. Page 26. 

For the thought in the above lines, the writer is indebted to a 

very beautiful passage in Lawson's tragedy of Giordano. 

" For this, your proof of love, I thank you friends ; 
And, as in after days you yet may read 
The unturned pages of my book of life, 
You shall not find a blot or stain thereon, 
To change the love that welcomes my return." 

The Banner of Murat. Page 27. 
Personal heroism was a distinguishing trait in the character of 
King Joachim. He was defeated in a Quixotic attempt to regain 
his lost power — after the restoration of the European legitimates— 
and was shot as an outlaw in Calabria. The soil, that but a brief 
season before had been proud to own him as its king, now drank 
his life blood with a greedy thirst. His bearing, in the hour of 
doom, was in perfect keeping with the chivalrous bravery of his 
whole life. The appellation le brave des braves, was applied by 
Napoleon, indiscriminately, to Murat, and Ney. The following 
passage, from Byron's Letters, has reference to the subject of this 
poem. "Poor Murat! What an end ! You know, I suppose, his 
white plume used to be a rallying point in battle, like Henry the 
Fourth's. He refused a confessor, and a bandage." Moore'sByron. 



86 NOTES. 

The Russian Retreat. Page 29. 
On the first repulse of the Emperor Nicholas, in the Turkish 
campaign of 1828, a spirited poem was published by James G. 
Brooks, in which the cause of the Ottoman, Mahmoud, was 
espoused with much grace and eloquence. However beautiful the 
poetry, the argument, at least, was of doubtful philosophy. The 
stanzas to which this note refers, were written in reply. The 
closing lines had very nearly been prophetic ; a policy, the motives 
of which are still shrouded in mystery, alone prevented the Musco- 
vite from redeeming the throne of the Constantines. 

Constantinople. Page 32. 
The lines under this title were written in anticipation of a more 
glorious result to the contest between Russia and the Porte, than 
subsequent events have realized. " Conqueror of Stromboul," 
were a prouder title than merely "Passer of the Balkan." In ex- 
planation of the closing lines, it can scarcely be necessary to remind 
the reader of the incidents connected with the conquest of Con- 
stantinople by the Turks, and the death of the last Grecian Em- 
peror. 

.dnd the land of song is free ! Page 35. 
This line is not yet verified. Doubt still hangs over the destinies 
of Greece. Another move on the political chess-board may decide 
the fate of that "Land of dead heroes, living slaves!" 



On the glorious plain of the grounded arms. Page 57. 
The scene of Burgoyne's surrender has been beautifully desig- 
nated by Halleck, the " Field of the grounded arms." 



NOTES. 



87 



Address. Page 61. 

The Poem referred to in this note is one of two recited on 
the opening of the Bowery Theatre, to both of which prizes were 
awarded by the committee of the New- York Association. 

The other production, from the pen of WilUam Leggett, a com- 
position of great classical beauty, was pronounced by Mr. Edwin 
Forrest. Though high, it is but just praise to remark, that the 
poem was worthy the reputation of its author, and of the admira- 
ble powers of the tragedian. 

Prologue. Page 65. 
The munificent premium offered by Mr. Forrest, for a tragedy, 
the principal character of which should be an aboriginal of this 
continent, was adjudged to the play of Metamora. The lines on 
page 65 were written as a prologue to that production. 

The relics of God^s wrathful minister. Page 73. 
The above line assumes the correctness of the hypothesis, that 
the alluvial remains sometimes found in excavating the earth, are 
the relics of the Flood. 



Where are those cherished hopes of bright renown, 
Wherein I dressed myself ? Page 80. 

Was the hope drunk, 
Wherein you dressed yourself? Macbeth. 



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